


Reprise

by Thistlerose



Category: Enchanted (2007)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giselle returns to Andalasia after eleven years and finds Edward under a spell and in need of her help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide 2008. Many thanks to Krabapple and Pinkfinity for beta reading.

"Oh dear," said Giselle as she stepped daintily from the magic portal and looked around. "I've been away such a very, very long time. I don't recognize Andalasia at all. Of course, I've never seen the castle in the winter…"

Her glance took in the gray turrets, with their dark windows like open mouths, gaping at the vast, snowy landscape. In the courtyard where she stood, leafless branches rattled in the stiff wind and not a single bird sang.

Tucked snugly in a fold of Giselle's woolen scarf, Pip said, "Well, it's been eleven years, honey. And, like I said in my letter, things haven't been so great here."

"I don't remember you saying anything like that in your letter."

"Uh, yeah. I might have forgotten to actually write that part."

Giselle sighed. "Well, I'm sure things will seem nicer in the morning. They always do." She didn't quite believe it, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

Pip muttered something that might have been, "Don't be too sure, sweetie," but his words were drowned out by the heavy clatter of hooves on flagstones, and the jingle of harness bells.

As Giselle watched, a cream-white horse with a long butter-colored mane and tail, trotted into the courtyard. Sitting astride its back was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his face shadowed by the hood of his crimson riding cloak. He reined in his horse two yards from where Giselle stood and flicked back his hood with a leather-gloved hand.

"Uh-oh," said Pip, pulling the scarf over his head.

"Edward!" Giselle cried in surprise and delight.

He looked at her for a long time, and she at him, and as the seconds ticked by in silence except for the wind in the trees and the tinkling harness bells, her smile began to fade. Had he been ill? She wondered. His face was so pale, almost waxen, and his blue eyes were curiously glassy – though she supposed that might have been a trick of the light.

"Edward," she said at length, "don't you recognize me? It's been a long time, I know, but—"

"I know you," he cut in, his tone flinty. "Well, what brings you back to Andalasia? Come to gloat?"

Giselle inhaled sharply. "Gloat? Edward, I would never. I don't even know what you mean."

Pip grabbed a lock of her hair and gave it a sharp tug, as if in warning. Ignoring him, she went on, "If something's happened here, some terrible thing, I didn't know about it. But I'd never come to gloat. You _know_ I wouldn't."

"No I don't," Edward said. "I never really knew you. That was the problem, remember?"

"Yes," said Giselle. "But Nancy—"

She'd misspoken. She didn't need Pip's savage yank on her hair to tell her that. Edward's shoulders hunched, as though he'd been struck from behind. He looked away from her. In chagrin, she took a step closer, then jumped back when he whirled about so violently that his horse stamped the ground and tossed its head.

"Don't say that name!" he shouted, his pale, handsome face distorted in anger. "It's forbidden to speak that name here. You'd know that if you'd ever bothered to— And don't just stand there like a fool. You should bow before your king, peasant!"

As he'd spoken, Giselle's confusion had given way to dismay, followed by anger that bubbled inside her. She pressed her lips together in an effort to hold it back, but when he fell silent, it spilled out of her in a torrent. "You are not my king!" she shot back. "And I am not a peasant. I'm an American citizen and a successful fashion designer! I came here on vacation, not to trouble you. I'm very sorry if things with Nancy did not work as they should have, but I thought—"

"You thought," he spat. "How much simpler my life would be if the women in it thought _less_."

The old Giselle, the one who'd spent her days frolicking with woodland creatures, and believed that being rescued from trolls was the same as falling in love, might have broken at this point, and burst into helpless tears. But the Giselle who stood before Edward now had spent the last eleven years in New York City, had loved deeply, and lost, and raised a child – and ran a successful business, despite a sagging economy. _That_ Giselle raised her chin and said to the man on horseback, "And how much _happier_ your life might be, if _you_ thought a bit _more_."

At that moment, Pip burst from Giselle's scarf, frantically waving his tiny arms. "Your Majesty!" he exclaimed. "Your Majesty, don't listen to her. She's disoriented—"

"I am _not_," Giselle insisted.

"She's crazy," Pip went on. "New York'll do that to a girl. She didn't mean a word, your Majesty. Just forget all about us. We'll just—"

"_Silence_, chipmunk!" As Pip dove back under Giselle's scarf, Edward fixed his gaze once more on her. There _was_ something wrong with his eyes, she thought. They were dark as a moonless, starless sky, and _hard_, like stones or ice.

And that was all she had time to think. In one swift movement, Edward leaned down, caught her by the waist, and swung her up onto the saddle behind him. She batted at him with her fists, but stopped when he gave the horse's reins a jerk. Then she had to cling to his cloak to keep from falling as they clopped toward the castle entrance.

"Oh, Pip," she whispered, "I think Edward's under a spell!"

"You _think_?" Pip muttered.

*

"Like I was saying," Pip said, after Edward locked them in the tower, "things haven't been so great here."

"You might have spoken up sooner," Giselle reproved as she turned slowly in a circle. As prisons went, she'd seen worse – in movies, anyway. Though the room's walls were naked gray stones, a thick carpet covered the floor, and the four-poster bed looked almost cozy and inviting. There was a wardrobe of rich mahogany, and a desk with a chair. There was a single mirror, no pictures, and there was only one narrow window – one of the ones she'd thought resembled a gaping mouth, when she'd looked up at it from the courtyard.

"I was hoping it was something we could take care of by ourselves," Pip said. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Tell me about Nancy," Giselle said, going to the window and looking down. They were very high up. She could see well past the castle grounds, past the tiny village, all the way across the snow-covered valley to the forest where she'd grown up. The trees were black against the whiteness of the earth and the gray of the sky.

Pip scrambled up to the window ledge and sat at her elbow. "She left. Years ago. Oh, they tried to make it work, but…this just wasn't her kind of place. Or so I heard. Couldn't get used to all of us animals." He sounded somewhat contemptuous. "Missed her friends. Missed the Internet. Missed good Chinese food."

"Well, I can see how that _would_ be a problem for a New Yorker like Nancy."

Pip shrugged. "So, one day, she up and left. Went back through the portal. Haven't heard from her since. That was seven, maybe eight years ago."

"Poor Edward."

"Yeah, he took it pretty hard. But, what did you expect? When you grow up believing you only get One True Love, and you get yourself dumped _twice_, you start thinking maybe there's something really wrong with _you_. And now there is."

"Tell me about this spell Edward's under," said Giselle, frowning at the dark line of trees.

"Don't really know much about it. It's just a hunch. A theory me an' my pals've been tossing around. But it explains a lot. Explains why the king's been such a jerk lately, chasing away maidens who come seeking his hand, letting the castle fall into relative ruin."

"Maybe Edward's really a jerk."

"Aw, you don't really believe that, do you, honey?"

"Well," said Giselle, "he _did_ lock us up in the tower."

"Fair point," Pip said. "But I think the poor guy's under a spell. And I think _you_ came to break it."

"I came because I needed a break from New York. Now that Morgan's away at college, I thought it would be good for me." She eyed him with suspicion. "I hope that isn't why you wrote to me."

He patted her wrist with his tiny paw. "That might have been in the back of my mind. But I wrote because I missed you."

"Oh, Pip." She smiled. "I missed you, too. Now, then. How do we escape? I could make a rope out of the sheets and the blanket, but I don't think it will be long enough. I dropped my suitcase when Edward swooped me up, but I don't think any of the clothes I packed would be much help."

"You could sing," Pip suggested. "We animals stay away from the castle these days, but I know my pals would come for you."

"I don't sing anymore," Giselle said. "Oh, I suppose I hum a little in the shower sometimes, but I don't sing – the way you mean. I haven't since…" Suddenly she was blinking back tears. "Since…you know."

"Yeah," Pip said, still patting her wrist. "Yeah, honey, I know."

*

Shortly after sunset, Edward came to let them out. Framed by the doorway, he said, sounding surprised, "You're still dressed like that."

Giselle looked down at her purple cashmere sweater, her jeans, and her boots. All were very nice, but she supposed she did seem a bit grubby beside Edward, with his royal silks and velvets.

"I left my suitcase by the fountain," she said.

"There are clothes in the wardrobe."

"I know." She and Pip had done a little more investigating and discovered them – half a dozen ball gowns, some fancy as wedding cakes, some simple and graceful as wineglasses. There'd been matching shoes, too. All in her size. Which had struck her as odd until she'd remembered that nearly all Andalasian girls wore the same size.

"I'll wait while you change," Edward said.

"I'm comfortable as I am."

"You can't go to dinner like that."

"I think you'll find," said Giselle, "that I can."

But just then she caught sight of Pip. The chipmunk had scurried, unnoticed, to the floor, and was now between Edward's ankles, shaking his head and making _shut up shut up_ gestures. When he realized he'd caught her attention, he stopped, gave her a quick salute, then turned and darted away down the stairs.

"Are you even _listening_ to me?" Edward demanded.

"Hmwhat?" said Giselle, glancing up. His face was red. He'd clearly been yelling, but she hadn't heard a word. "Oh, fine, I'll change if it makes you happy. Just – get out."

"Nothing makes me happy," Edward said before she slammed the door in his face.

*

From the wardrobe, Giselle selected a simple, long-sleeved dress of rose-colored velvet; it looked the warmest, and came with the cutest shoes. She unbraided her hair and ran her fingers through it. Not very tidy perhaps, but all her brushes and gels were in her suitcase, and Edward hadn't said a word about her hair. She did have a small tin of cherry-flavored lipgloss in the pocket of her jeans; she dabbed a little onto her lips, then studied herself in the mirror.

"You could use a little blush," the mirror said.

"Oh!" Giselle was startled. "I didn't realize you were a magic mirror. Why didn't you say something, before?"

"He might ask you to marry him," the mirror said, ignoring her question. "It's his thing. Or, it was for a while. You're the first maiden he's locked up here in ages. He might have gotten past that phase by now."

"I'm not a maiden," said Giselle.

"Whatever," said the mirror.

Giselle stepped very close to the mirror and whispered, "Please. He's waiting for me outside. You must tell me what's going on. Why is Edward such a beast? It's true I didn't really know him all that well – back when I thought he was my true love. But – I looked into his heart and I thought…well, I'd have sworn there wasn't an unkind bone in his body. A little arrogant, maybe, but… Oh, please tell me. You must know. Was I right? Is Edward under a spell? And, if he is, how can I break it?"

"_Giselle!_" Edward called from the top of the stairs.

"Please," Giselle said again to the mirror. "You must—"

The mirror said quickly, softly, "The king's stepmother was an evil sorceress. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. But Narissa's dead. I was there when she died. I sort of helped kill her, actually."

"That's nice, dear. Listen. Narissa left behind all sorts of enchantments. Potions, poisoned apples – that sort of thing. After Queen Nancy left, the king was despondent. It's entirely likely he—"

The door burst open and the mirror fell silent. Edward stalked across the threshold and seized Giselle by the arm. "Let's go," he said. Then – "Where's the chipmunk?"

"Waiting with my suitcase, I hope," snapped Giselle. "I dropped him when you grabbed me."

"He'll be waiting a long time," said Edward.

As he marched her down the stairs, Giselle began to understand what Pip had meant by relative ruin. The castle looked as if it had not been cleaned in ages. Every picture frame and suit of armor had a thick coating of dust. Every tapestry hung askew and ragged. But more than that, a _feeling_ of neglect and despair permeated. Neither a taste nor a scent, it seeped through Giselle's pores. Cold and dank, it moved inside her, seeking doors she'd shut on old sorrows, working them open. And she remembered…

_"Are you sure you want to drive in this?" she said as he buttoned his overcoat. "You could just take a cab to Penn Station. There'll be backups—"_

"Everywhere," he said, "whether I drive or take the train. At least, if I drive, I'll have heat and music. I'm a big, scary lawyer. I'm not afraid of a little snow."

"It's more than a little snow," Giselle said, but he was grinning and in a moment she found herself grinning too. She picked up his scarf – the dark blue one, which she'd knitted herself, without any help from birds or rodents – looped it around his neck, then used it to pull his face down to hers, so she could kiss him. "Drive carefully."

"Well, I was planning on speeding, but if you insist…"

"I love you."

"I love you. I'll be back for dinner."

But he wasn't.

Giselle shook her head, as if to dislodge the memory. She was crying - though, she realized as she came back to herself, her tears were as much for Edward as for her own loss. _It's this place,_ she thought. _It's Narissa. Somehow, even in death, she has power over it – and him. I'm unhappy, and I've only been here since this afternoon. He's been here alone for years._

Edward brought her to a dimly lit hall where a long table and two high-backed chairs had been placed. There were two place settings, a bottle of red wine, and a platter of roasted – something or other. It might have been pork or chicken; it was hard to tell in the gloom.

Giselle said the first thing that popped into her head, which was, "You cooked?"

"No," Edward said, walking her to a chair, and releasing her arm so she could sit.

"You have servants? If you do, they're not taking very good are of this place."

"I don't have servants." Edward sank into the chair opposite hers and reached for the wine bottle. "This is an enchanted castle. Things just…happen."

"But not cleaning. I only mention it because—"

His scowl stopped her chatter.

They ate in silence. Occasionally, Giselle stole glances at Edward, but he never seemed to be watching her; his gaze was always on his food or the bay windows. The clouds had parted, Giselle observed, allowing a thin trickle of moonlight to fall onto the snow, making the long curves of the hills shimmer faintly. It would have been a lovely scene, she thought, but for…well, everything else.

When they'd finished eating, Edward rose and held his hand out to her. She pushed back her chair, but didn't rise.

"Don't even think of asking me to marry you," she said.

He cocked his head at her. "Aren't you already married?"

"I was. Robert – well, he died."

"How long ago?"

"Four years."

His lashes twitched. "Oh."

She waited for more. She'd wondered, all through dinner, how he'd react.

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, slowly, "In that case, perhaps we _should_ marry."

She started as though he'd struck her. "Marry? Why on earth?"

"Neither of us believes in happily ever after."

"I believe in _happily_," Giselle retorted. She jumped to her feet and grabbed hold of his forearm. "Edward, please. _Look_ at me." His face _was_ turned toward hers, but his glance seemed caught by something behind her. She shook him as hard as she could. "_What_ have you gotten yourself into? What have you done to yourself? After Nancy left, you got into Narissa's things, didn't you? You took something, a potion or – I don't know what. But it's changed you. It's made you – a beast! Just…a horrible beast!"

His glance met hers at last, and in the candles' dying light, she thought she saw a flicker of warmth behind the icy blue.

_Please, Edward,_ she thought, squeezing his arm. _Please. I lost Robert. I couldn't stand it if you were lost as well. Come back to me._

"I—" Edward began, and Giselle held her breath. "When she – when Nancy left – I was…"

_Yes,_ thought Giselle. _Please, oh yes._

"I couldn't bear it. I needed something. And Narissa had left behind all these enchanted things. Potions and…"

_Yes…_

"There was this…mirror. It…caught my eye. I looked into it, but it didn't show me myself. It showed me Nancy. She was with some friends, back in New York, and they were laughing at me. Then the mirror showed me my own people, and they were all laughing at me."

"No!" The word flew from Giselle's lips before she could think. It seemed to strike Edward between the eyes. He blinked and the flicker of warmth was gone.

"Yes," he said harshly. "Everyone in Andalasia was laughing at me. And why shouldn't they? I'd had two true loves, and they'd both left me."

"The mirror lied," Giselle insisted. "Show it to me. I'll – I don't know. I'll prove it's lying, somehow!"

"I smashed the mirror," Edward said. "With my fist. The shards went flying. I think – one of them may have struck my eye. It only hurt for a second, but then – suddenly I saw things differently."

"I'll bet," muttered Giselle.

"I saw things truly," he went on, leading bodily her from the hall. "There's no true love. There's no happily ever after. Not in Andalasia, not anywhere. That's the truth, Giselle."

*

Back in her tower room, Giselle paced and fumed. "Is that what he does? Just imprison girls and ask them to marry him? I can't imagine anyone's said yes. What does he do," she demanded, halting in front of the mirror, "when he gets tired of being told no?"

"Nothing," the mirror replied placidly. "The maidens are always rescued. Handsome princes, wannabe heroes, young thieves with hearts of gold – someone always shows up eventually. They scale the tower or fly up somehow, and carry the maidens away. You can imagine what that's done for the king's disposition."

"I don't need to imagine," said Giselle. "I've seen it. Oh, what can I do? I doubt anyone's coming for me. If anyone did, it would be my stepdaughter, Morgan. I don't know how she'd scale the tower, but she's a black belt now and could certainly take care of Edward. That's something I'd like to see." But even as she spoke the words, she felt a pang of regret. "No, that's not true. I want to help him if I can. He wasn't my true love, but he was my first love, and he did try so hard to save me when I was lost in New York. And I just hate seeing him so miserable. I know what did this. It was that awful mirror of Narissa's."

She began to pace again. "The only cure I know is True Love's Kiss and I don't think it would work in this situation. For one thing, it wouldn't be true love. For another – well, I don't really _want_ to kiss him. I could try to make him cry, I suppose, but – no, he probably enjoys other people's misery."

"There is a theory," said the mirror. "Just a theory, mind you, that there's something even more powerful than True Love's Kiss."

She stopped again, and frowned. "But I always thought… At least, everyone's always said that True Love's Kiss is the most powerful thing in the world."

"It's certainly powerful," the mirror said. "Powerful enough to break most spells. But you have to admit, it puts the non-lipped at a distinct disadvantage."

"The non-_lipped_?"

"Human beings aren't the only inhabitants of Andalasia," the mirror retorted huffily.

"I suppose… What is this thing?"

"I don't know," said the mirror. "I told you, it's just a theory. There've been experiments, surveys…"

"For a magic mirror," Giselle said, "you're not very helpful."

"Hmph," replied the mirror.

Just then Giselle heard a _click!_, and then a familiar voice hissed from the other side of the door, "Turn the knob, honey! It's unlocked."

Giselle flung the door open and there was Pip, dangling from a golden key jammed into the lock. She caught him up in her cupped hands and kissed the top of his head. "Oh, Pip—"

"Yeah, yeah. You can praise my heroics later. Let's get out of here."

She hadn't changed out of her velvet gown, and she supposed there wasn't time now. She did, however, kick off the delicate shoes and jam her feet into her sturdy winter boots. On the way out of the room, she grabbed her scarf and coat.

"Oh, fine," complained the mirror. "Just leave me here."

"I'm sorry—" Giselle began, but Pip cautioned sharply, "_Quiet._"

They moved swiftly and silently down the long, spiral staircase. At the landing, Giselle paused.

"You _can't_ go back for the mirror," Pip said.

"I wasn't. I just—" Giselle shrugged into her coat and wound her scarf about her neck. "Edward," she said softly. "I feel so badly about leaving him here."

"Hey, you can stay if you want, but I don't recommend it."

"I know. I don't want to." Still, she hesitated. Her heart ached for Edward. _If only I knew what it was,_ she thought, _the thing that's more powerful than True Love's Kiss._

Pip started down the corridor and she followed, but she kept thinking, _What is it? What could it be?_

She ran the castle's darkness seemed to beat all around her, but she knew that it was only her heart. And she thought, and she remembered—

Robert's death had broken her heart, and Morgan's. They'd clung together in their grief, each convinced that she would never be truly happy again, and indeed, after four years the hurt was still there for both of them. But it was more a tender ache than a cutting pain, and the thing that had softened it…

"Pip!" Giselle cried breathlessly as they descended another flight of stairs. "Do you know any very good jokes?"

Pip reached the bottom first and turned to look up at her. "_What?_"

"I've figured it out. We need to make Edward laugh."

"Well, uh, _that's_ a good joke."

"I'm serious, Pip. And it has to be the _good_ sort of laughter," she added, remembering what Edward had told her about his vision of Nancy and her friends. "It has to be genuine."

"Giselle, I hate to tell you this, but if we don't hurry, the only kind of laughter you're likely to hear from that guy is the maniacal, evil kind. And I doubt that counts."

They didn't stop or speak again until they were out in the courtyard. There, Giselle had to pause because there was a stitch in her side. As she sucked air into her lungs, she looked up. The clouds had thinned even more, and she could see the crescent moon in the western part of the sky. It would be dawn in a few hours, and then Edward would awaken and perhaps come looking for her. She needed a plan. She needed to _rest_. It had been, she realized for the first time, a _very_ long day and night.

And it wasn't over.

Pip had caught hold of the hem of her dress and was tugging at it. She stumbled forward over the snow. She could see her suitcase now. It was still by the fountain, where she'd dropped it.

"Come on, honey," Pip urged. "We're almost there. We'll get your stuff, and get you to your cottage in the woods. My pals've been keeping it clean for you."

"Well, wasn't that nice of them?" said Edward, stepping away from the fountain.

Giselle and Pip stopped in their tracks.

"I awoke," Edward went on, "to discover that someone had stolen the key to the tower. I figured you'd come this way."

"I figure you're going to let us keep going this way," said Pip.

Giselle studied Edward. There'd been no challenge in his tone. He bore no weapons that she could see. His hands hung limply at his sides.

"He _is_ going to let us, Pip," she said. "We're free to go."

"Go," Edward said. "Just – go, if that's what you want. Leave me—"

"Like everyone else," Giselle finished for him. "That's what you expect. It's what you think you want because you've been living for so long without any hope or happiness, it's what you're used to." As she spoke, she walked slowly toward him. She stopped about two feet away from where he stood, and waited for him to move. But he stood still and silent as a thing carved out of ice, even when, after two or three thudding heartbeats, she lifted her hand to touch his cheek.

His skin was so cold. He'd been standing here for some while, she thought, without a coat or hat. Just waiting for her to come and abandon him. He'd been broken years ago, and put back together all wrong. Hot tears stung Giselle's eyes.

"Edward," she said.

"Go," he whispered. "If you're going to go, just – go."

"Edward… I have only one thing to say to you." She didn't know if it would help, but she could think of nothing else. It was from one of Morgan's favorite movies, and it always made her laugh. "So," said Giselle, "there's this wonderful, brave chipmunk named Pip. And one day, one day he bumps into this – uh – robin. And Pip says to the robin, 'I know a man with a wooden leg, named Smith.' And the robin, she replies, 'Really? What's the name of his other leg?'"

She held her breath. Seconds went by, but he only looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She exhaled and, turning away, let her hand fall to her side. She'd been wrong. There was nothing more she could do.

"Come on, Pip," she said dully. "Let's go." She walked over to her suitcase and bent to grasp the handle.

"Uh…Giselle?" said Pip. "You wanna hold on a minute?"

She closed her eyes, closed her mouth, tried to close every part of herself, but hope got in, and then she was straightening, turning, looking—

And she saw Edward double over, clutching at his shoulders. Saw him stagger. Then she was running, and she was too late to stop him from falling to his knees in the snow, so she dropped to his side and threw her arms around his neck. She felt every tremor that passed through his frame, and when she pressed her cheek to his, his tears landed on her lips and she tasted them. He was laughing and crying simultaneously.

"It's all right," she breathed. "I'm here. It's over."

As if in reply, his arms wound tightly about her waist.

"I'll leave you two alone," Pip said. "You can both thank me later."

Giselle did not see him leave. She held Edward, stroking the back of his neck, gently kissing his cheeks, his temples, his eyelids, murmuring soothing things. When at last he stopped shaking, still she did not let go. He was her Edward, and she _would_ not let him go.

"I'm sorry," he said at length, his voice ragged. "I remember everything I said and did while I was under that spell. I'm _so_ sorry. For everything."

"Well," she said, "you should know better than to go messing through an evil enchantress's things."

He laughed again, and the sound was almost like music. Dawn was beginning to warm the sky, and for a moment Giselle was surprised by the swift passage of time, but then she remembered that things tended to happen symbolically in Andalasia. And as she did, something in her own heart mended.

"Giselle," Edward said. Then he sang:

_You're the one I never could forget.  
You're the missing—_

And Giselle sang:

_—Line from your couplet._

"What's a…?" Edward began.

"Couplet," said Giselle. "You know. Two lines of verse. In poetry."

"Oh."

"Why? What were you going to sing?"

Edward said, "I think I was going to call you the missing arm of my doublet."

"Oh."

"I'm a little rusty," he said apologetically.

"So am I," said Giselle.

"I'm rustier."

"Yes. But I have a teenage stepdaughter with English homework. You met her when she was little. You'll meet her again when you come to New York for Christmas. Meantime, we'll practice."

"Together?"

"Yes," she said.

He leaned away from her, but only so he could take her hands in his, turn them over, and press kisses into her palms. It wasn't True Love's Kiss, but perhaps in time…

And they _had_ time, Giselle thought, as the sun rose and Edward looked at her with eyes that were the blue of a cloudless summer sky. They had time, they had laughter, and they had music. And that was a good start.

12/13/2008


End file.
